


Love Me Like Pink Satin

by crowleyshouseplant (orphan_account)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-09
Updated: 2013-02-09
Packaged: 2017-11-28 17:05:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/676800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/crowleyshouseplant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean indulges in self-care.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Me Like Pink Satin

**Author's Note:**

> For Lena who said something in my ask wishing for a scene like this.

Dean fumbled with the shower knobs, fingers grimy and dirty, the fine muscles shivering from where he’d clenched a base ball bat too hard. It’d been red and splintered up by the time he’d been through, just like his feet were red and swollen and sore and wet with broken up blisters that he picked after he kicked off his boots like an old man, after he pulled off his worn thin socks. 

The water ran hot down his back, came off dirty and red around his ankles and his toes. The heat and steam eased the charlie horses—muscles chomped like bits in their mouth, twisting in his calves—he’ll walk without limping, he’s sure.

When he finished, his skin smelled sweet from the apple scented body wash in the travel sized bottle swiped right from the corner store under cover of his sweetheart grin. 

Beer sweated on the counter—enough to hold loose and heavy in his hand, but not enough to drunk dial Sam at Stanford. He pawed through his luggage—tossing crumpled underwear and mismatched socks to the side until he found that soft, pink, satiny pair tucked in the corner, carefully folded.

The lace on the edges were worn thin, the pink faded from washing and too much soap and too much dryer heat. He slipped them on, soft and smooth against his innermost thighs not like his blue jeans caked with sweat and salt and gunpowder.

He turned the radio on, and Bon Jovi was singing living on a prayer. He climbed up on the bed-- 

jumped up and down on the mattress in time, his fists beating out a drum beat, knees bent and crooked, thighs spread into a tight stretch held in close by the tight kiss of pink satin slipping and sliding across his skin. 


End file.
